The Omega Factor
by Liv-FanficLover
Summary: When Jacqueline West breaks out of military prison after being sentanced for 15 years for a crime she did not commit, will Hannibal and his team be willing to help and trust a fellow Ranger to clear her name and find out who framed her? Reviews LOVED!
1. Disgrace

**The A-Team:**

**The Omega Factor**

**Credit:** Given to the makers and producers of The A-Team television series & 2010 movie production. Thank you for the inspiration!

**Preface:**

She was silent as she stared at their game plan, laid out in front of them. Hours of thinking, hours of planning. And here it was, ready for action. The woman looked up; four other faces looked back at her— all faces which she had grown used to, and now she was faced with the fact that they might not come out alive after this. One particular creased face met her gaze directly.

"Do you think it'll work?" the woman asked softly, "do you think we have a chance?" A small smile crept up on the other's face.

"Of course it will," the man replied, reassurance in his voice. "You wanna know why?"

The woman grinned as the man pulled out a long cigar and stuck it in his mouth, grinning back at her.

"Because our plans _always_ come together. And I _love it_ when a plan comes together."

Chapter 1: Disgrace

"Captain Jacqueline Elizabeth West, by the power of the United States Armed Forces, and the Government of our great country, you have now been stripped of all previous titles and ranks, and you will be sentenced to up to 15 years in military prison. We regret to inform you that all contact with outside persons, including family, will be prohibited and you will be held under constant supervision by your fellow officers. We hope military confinement will cause you to reflect on what you've been sentenced for."

Jacqueline West almost felt like screaming. However, going into a rampage was not something she normally felt like doing, but, like any American soldier, pride for her name and her rank was something that came naturally during training. And now that was being stripped away. Jacqueline stood as erect as a flag pole as an officer walked up to her and reached up to pull the metal pins off of her shoulders. She tried her hardest not to let herself instinctively reach up and grab the hand, twisting it and contorting it until the soldier screamed in agony. But, instead, she only stood there and let the officer pull off the pins that signified her rank individually. As she stood there, she wondered how other individuals in this similar situation had felt. Multiple times, no doubt, she remembered, that she had heard the stories of others being dishonourably discharged and court marshaled, and she had even witnessed a few of the cases with her own innocent eyes. But now she was standing there, herself, being committed to a military prison, knowing that by the time she got out, she would never be the same. She would be condemned, for the rest of her natural life. The reality of it struck Jacqueline quite hard, almost bringing her to tears.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Miss West?" the judge asked, his voice slightly off as he spoke. Jacqueline looked up at him, her face unreadable. She briefly thought about what she could say. She could plead not-guilty again. They wouldn't believe her, though, she thought. They didn't when she was tried in the first court. She could give them one last truth-filled and heart-wrenching sentence, like she had heard others give, to prove her worth as an honest soldier, and to give them something to chew on while she was locked away and her lawyers and friends fought for her freedom. But no words of dare or challenge came to mind that she could offer them.

"No, your Honor."

The judge looked at her, his face cold and hard, like a stone. Jacqueline looked at the other faces surrounding the judge, fellow officers and Generals that she knew; at least, she was beginning to know. She noticed their cold demeanor as well. They were _all_ condemning her. Condemning her to a fate that Jacqueline finally realized she could not escape— a fate that would indefinitely change her character.

At last another officer took Jacqueline under the arm, leading her out and away from the court room. And those were the first of the hands that would take her from place to place, never releasing her. Jacqueline forced herself not to scream, or cry, or make any sort of emotional outburst, even a slight frown. She kept her face impassive. She kept her soul impassive.

3 Years Later

"Mornin', Jack," a uniform-clad man said as he walked into an open cell where someone was lying on a cot. A small grunt was heard over in the corner where the person was. The man stopped, looking up from a tray of food and a small clipboard that he was holding.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked quietly. The person grunted again.

"Is it because I called you Jack?" the man added, and he got a look on his face that showed slight tension.

"No, Bill, not because you called me Jack," the voice replied, finally audible. The person moved from the cot, sitting up slowly. The person, a woman, looked up, her face sickly and pale.

"Oh great. Sick again," Bill said, and he placed the tray of food down on a metal chair next to him. He cautiously walked over to the woman, looking at her with a wary sort of expression. Jacqueline West looked up at the man, Bill, her eyes encircled with purple, her face insipid.

"It's this stupid place." She said hoarsely. Bill cracked a small smile.

"You always say that," he replied. Jacqueline looked down, saddened. Bill's grin faded and he looked down at Jacqueline, noticing her depressed demeanor.

"What is it?" Bill asked, concerned.

"It's today."

Bill paused, not really sure what to say.

"I know it's never easy—" he started Jacqueline looked up, a look on her face that could've been anger, but it was too mixed with grief to even begin to look like fire.

"It's been three years, Bill. Three. And to think… nothing has changed. And I still have… oh, yeah, that's right, twelve years to go."

"Jacqueline, their still working it out—"

"Stop Bill," Jacqueline said sharply, ice in her voice, "you know as well as I do, they gave up the fight years ago. They don't care anymore. I'm not important to them; I never got to know them. Just another harebrained case, that's all I was." Bill was silent at that, knowing it was pointless to argue with Jacqueline about the case that happened three years ago. Her case. Jacqueline sighed, sinking back into her depressed state again, and she pulled out a small photograph from underneath her pillow.

"I wonder how he's doing…" she said quietly, looking at the photo, sorrow filling her voice again.

"I'm sure he's fine," Bill muttered, trying not to say much for fear of Jacqueline's mood swings.

"I mean, I never got to say goodbye…" Jacqueline added. Bill sighed, and finally he sat down across from Jacqueline on a hard metal chair. He thought a moment on how to treat her, and realizing it would take the work of a trained soldier, so he straightened up and narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"Jacqueline, look at me," he said firmly. Automatically, like she was trained, Jacqueline looked up at Bill, meeting his eyes fully, finally. He was staring at her with clout, and Bill recalled fleetingly that, at first, Jacqueline would always meet this look with such defiance that she looked like a panther ready to strike. But now that look was gone from her eyes, leaving acquiescence and despair, as though the panther had been captured and locked away under the imprisonment. Only after three years.

"Jacqueline, you've been here three years. I know it's hard. But you have to look at the factual side of things, even if their not bright; you're gonna be here for a while, you can't deny it. People are still fighting for your case, even if you don't think they are. And you've got people, even here, who still care about you. Take me for example. I'm stuck with your butt until I get a better job, but I'll stick with you until the end, alright?"

Jacqueline actually cracked a smile at that, feeling slightly better about how the day was going.

"Now, soldier, are you gonna sit there and sulk about what today is? Or are you gonna make a better day of it?" Bill added, his voice becoming rough and stern to match his look, like the drill sergeants at basic training.

"Yes sir, I will make a better day of this," Jacqueline said, and she gathered up all of the energy that she could to sit up straighter.

"Good," Bill said, and he stood up. Jacqueline followed him, standing up as well. She met his height, even slightly taller.

"You'll make a good general some day, Bill," Jacqueline said, and she smiled slightly. Bill smiled just slightly back.

"Thank you, Captain." Jacqueline turned to leave her cell, Bill coming up alongside of her to take her arm.

"Oh, and West," Bill added. Jacqueline turned to him.

"You didn't salute me this morning."

Jacqueline felt her eyes narrow with a bit of her usual defiance, but she raised her hand in salute anyway to her commanding officer. Even though Bill was technically a rank below Bill, herself having become a Captain before she was sentenced to prison, since she was stripped of her title, she was forced to salute those of the Lieutenant rank and higher. For a moment, Jacqueline felt a slight bit of relief in remembering that Bill at least treated her as an equal, and not a convict, proving that she was still a human being, and there were still people who cared, even in this hell-hole.

"As you were," Bill said, smiling again. Jacqueline rolled her eyes, and she let Bill take her arm. He led her out off the cell again, taking the tray of breakfast and the clipboard with him. As they walked down the hall, Jacqueline thought a moment.

"Bill," she said quietly, "I was wondering something…"

"Yes?" Bill asked. Jacqueline was silent for only a moment as she thought of how to ask her question. Bill, on the other hand, knew what was coming. Jacqueline usually asked it after a day like today, when she was depressed and moody, and Bill found a way to cheer her up, even just slightly.

"Do you think…? Do _you_ think I'm innocent?" she finally asked, her voice very hushed and small, like a child. Bill was silent. He thought about her question. He thought about how much he wanted to answer her question, and what it would mean to her if he did. And he also thought about what he vowed to do, and what was at stake if he did answer her question.

"I can't answer that question, Jack."

Jacqueline smiled bitterly. She asked that question multiple times, and he always gave the same answer. She sighed before replying.

"I knew you'd say that."


	2. The Life of Incarceration

**Chapter 2: The Life of Incarceration**

Jacqueline opened her eyes to a dim room. For a moment, slight panic started creeping up inside of her, like it usually did when she woke up in the morning. But it was a very small feeling now; after three years of it, she found that she was becoming used to it. In a cell, locked away, knowing that for twelve more years she would be forced to live in this place, no contact with the outside, her only friends being Bill, the soldier who was assigned to her prison block, and the occasional visit of a cockroach or some random bug that found its way into her cell. After the first couple times of killing any living creature that was smaller than her hand that made its way into her small blockish room, Jacqueline began to learn and appreciate the sanctity of life, even if it was a disgusting sort of creature like a cockroach or a spider, and even though she was trained to kill anything that she thought was a threat. It was odd, Jacqueline thought, that after a time of being so alone, and the only company being soldiers who had committed sometimes horrendous crimes, that she would find that the only real comfort of another being came from creatures that probably didn't even care or notice that she resided in the cell as well.

Jacqueline closed her eyes a moment, trying to recall the dream that fleetingly danced across her mind while she rested in her dark cell. After a moment of straining to remember what her subconscious had been thinking, she gave up trying, and instead, opened her eyes to the dimness again. This was the start of a normal day at Fort Carson Military Prison, where Jacqueline was confined to.

Jacqueline yawned, and sat up slowly. It was earlier than she sometimes got up, early enough that the officers in charge hadn't started banging on cells to wake up the prisoners. Jacqueline was glad— it was quite unpleasant to be awakened by a sometimes-screaming military official so early in the morning. But by now, Jacqueline was used to it. This was her life now, and it was what she had to live with. Jacqueline stood and stretched, yawning again, listening to the crackling of her back as she stretched from side to side. After her stretching, she dropped to the floor to wake herself up with a few push-ups. Push-ups were a breeze for her, and she watched in satisfaction as her muscles rippled under her skin. She was glad that she was in such good shape, seeing as most soldiers there seemed to forget the importance of it, considering they knew that by the time they got out of this place, it was pretty pointless to be in shape since they weren't going back to the armed forces. Jacqueline jumped up, hopping on her feet a few times to shake herself awake. Besides, she thought, it was good to be ready when the officers decided to be complete jerks and make them do strenuous exercises. She was one of the few there who actually did quite well during those exercises, and she earned quite some respect from the officers there. After yawning one more time, Jacqueline walked a few paces to the front of the cell, and she leaned against the bars, breathing slightly heavily due to her exertion. After another moment or two of giving herself time to breathe properly, Jacqueline looked up, and slung her arms out casually through the bars, and she looked out, waiting for an officer, or even Bill to come along, ready to get her up for the day. She waited a couple minutes, letting her mind wander as she waited, trying once more to think of her dreams. She realized that for some time now, she had not been able to really recall specifically any of the dreams that she had been experiencing. Some of them, she did remember, included shootings, gunfire, bombs, warfare, etc., the kind of things that any soldier would find their subconscious thinking about.

At last, Jacqueline returned her focus to the real world, pulling herself out of her musings, as she heard the familiar casual steps of an officer approaching. Jacqueline cast a smile at the man who was walking up to wake her up.

"Ah, West," the man said, and a smirk came across his face, "you beat me to it, I see." Jacqueline grinned at the officer; one with whom she had gained a considerable amount of respect, and he actually treated her alright. Jacqueline gave a quick salute of respect toward the officer, and the Lieutenant waved her to ease, still smirking.

"You know I love to hear you scream at me, though, Bryon," Jacqueline said, and he lowered her arm while stifling another yawn.

"Oh, that hurts," Bryon said, and he took out a ring of keys and began unlocking the cell door, "you know I don't scream at you. Most of the time." Jacqueline grinned and stepped away from the door as Bryon unlocked it.

"How was your sleep?" Bryon asked, and Jacqueline caught the slight hint of a Hispanic accent to his voice.

"Good I guess, had another dream again…. Can't recall it though," Jacqueline added, thoughtfulness to her voice. Bryon shrugged slightly, and he took Jacqueline's arm to lead her out of the cell.

"It happens to everyone," he said, "your mind just doesn't know what to think of anymore."

"Or it's just fried," Jacqueline said, and she laughed bitterly.

"Yes, that too," Bryon said, grinning. He pulled Jacqueline out, and he closed the door behind her, careful not to let Jacqueline go. Jacqueline noticed this.

"You know Bryon," Jacqueline added, thoughtful again, "how long have I been here?"

Bryon looked over at her.

"Aren't you the one keeping track?" he asked, all joking aside.

"Well yes, but I'm asking you, sir."

"Three years," Bryon answered, his tone questioning.

"How many times have I tried to escape?" Jacqueline asked.

"… Well there was that one time—" Bryon started.  
"That doesn't count," Jacqueline said quickly, ignoring his comment. Bryon frowned.

"Never then, I guess," he finally replied.

"Then why," Jacqueline said, trying to sound polite, "do you _still_ have to hold me as though I'm going somewhere?" Bryon frowned again.

"Well, precaution," he said with uncertainty.

"Precaution," Jacqueline said, "nice. I'm a threat then?" The officer was quiet a moment, as if he was deciding whether to tell Jacqueline something or not.

"Look, to be honest, we've actually been reconsidering it… you've had good behavior," Bryon said quietly.

"Really?" Jacqueline said, perking up.

"Don't get your hopes up though," the officer added, "We're still considering. Third years don't usually get such a privilege." Jacqueline almost snorted in laughter at that. _Privilege_, she thought, _how lovely that they think of it that way_.

"As a matter of fact," Bryon said, sounding thoughtful like Jacqueline, "You've been almost too good." He looked over at Jacqueline, his eyes narrowing inquisitively.

"You're not playing the 'nice' card, are you?" he asked, his tone matching his look. Jacqueline returned the officer's gaze, her own eyes narrowing as well.

"I'm glad you would think that of me," she said, "you've known me since I've gotten here. I've never given you nor anyone else any trouble, nor have I had any reason to."

"You're forgetting that one time…." Bryon mumbled.

"Gah, you are _so_ pushing it," Jacqueline mumbled. Briefly, as the officer lead her down the hall, Jacqueline reflected on the incident in which Bryon was referring. It was weeks after Jacqueline had been sentenced to Fort Carson, some three years previously. Things had been okay for her, until that point. Like all eventually face when they are sent to such a place, Jacqueline, after being treated with such contempt by the officers in charge and her fellow inmates, she snapped. When one of the particularly cruel inmates had been harassing her ruthlessly one morning, Jacqueline snapped and reared back, punching him square in the face. They began to fight, and when a few of the soldiers and officers came over to stop the brawl, Jacqueline turned on them as well, and as a result, Jacqueline was sentenced to solitary confinement for three days, with nothing but a busted nose and lip. After that, however, Jacqueline found that she had gained some respect from her inmates, though the officers were ruffled by her outbreak.

Jacqueline pulled herself back into reality as she realized that Bryon was taking her to breakfast— the mess hall. One of her least favourite activities of the day was in fact, eating. Since it involved a lot of disgusting food, spilt drinks, upturned chairs and a few upturned tables, and the occasional throwing of food, and Jacqueline, no matter how much of a soldier she might have been, found that she was most reserved when it came to meal times. Not to say, however, that she didn't enjoy a few scuffles every now and then with a couple handfuls of food. Also, meal times were one of the few times where the inmates were allowed to mix— to say, Jacqueline could talk to both her male and female inmates. As soon as Jacqueline and Bryon passed two armed guards and reached the doors of the mess hall, Bryon let her loose, and Jacqueline made her way into the room.

It was a large, brightly lit room, lined with tables and people alike. When she walked in, a group of guys in a corner nodded respectfully in her direction. On the contrary, a few wolf-whistles floated her way, and some laughs along with it.

"Mornin' Jack!"

"Lookin' good Jack!"

Jacqueline smiled in reply, and headed over to the nearest table to settle herself down with a group of guys. There usually was a section somewhere in the mess hall where the female convicts huddle together, but seeing as most of them glared in her general direction, and there wasn't that many female convicts to begin with, Jacqueline found herself most comfortable with friendly guys. Which were, sometimes, hard to find.

"How ya doin', Jackie?" one guy said, punching her in the shoulder.

"As great as I can be, Branson," Jacqueline replied, and she grinned.

"You want somethin'?" another guy asked, offering her his tray of breakfast. He was a burly dark-skinned guy, and gentle too. Jacqueline often wondered what he had done to deserve to be in such a place. She shook her head, looking at the food with distaste.

"Breakfast isn't my favourite, Mark," she said.

"Right…" Mark replied, and he pulled his tray back toward himself.

"So West," said Branson, the guy next to her, "look. I've been hearin' some stuff lately. Some guys down on the north end have some, er, valuables, and I told 'em about you, and they're wantin' to know if—"

"Branson," Jacqueline said, and she gave him an incredulous look, "you've gotta be kidding me. I've told you fifteen times, I am _not_ a smoker. And I _don't_ do trades. I don't even want to _think_ of their prices." Branson shook his head, looking away.

"I'm tellin' ya, Jack, you'll go a long way with the guys, if you know what I mean," he said suggestively, and he looked around and winked at the other guys at the table, who all erupted in raucous laughter. Except for Mark.

"Come on, Branson, knock it off," he said, and he glared at him.

"Oh shove it, big guy," Branson laughed, "have a laugh!"

"Well then, go ahead and laugh it up, O'Connor," replied Jacqueline coldly, and she stood up. Mark watched her protectively as she left the table.

"Oh c'mon West! Lighten up!" Branson called after her. But Jacqueline walked away. She heard Branson mutter something like "wuss" as she stalked away toward another table of people. And so that was breakfast time.

After breakfast came a daily amount of time outside of the prison walls. Things there went slowly. Convicts had workout groups, others had trading sessions with cigarettes and poker cards. Newcomers sat in corners and sulked to themselves. Today, a new set of prisoners where being driven in. People crowded around the barb-wired gates, jeering and laughing as they watched the new prisoners pile out of the bus. Jacqueline was so used to see this, that she ignored it. Instead, she made her way around the courtyard, talking to random people, and eventually finding Bill to stop and talk to. He was guarding the south entrance of the courtyard which they were in, and he was in a bit of a foul mood at first. But when Jacqueline came along, he lightened up, and they conversed while a couple officers to the left of them watched the pair warily.

Lunch was basically the same as breakfast. Loud and repulsive. But this time, Jacqueline did eat a little— Bill would kill her if she decided not to eat. Afternoons went as usual as can be, minus the fact that their leading officers decided to have a little constructive fun with their prisoners. They sent them into a grueling set of workouts, which included, thanks to the wonderful weather, outside obstacle courses similar to those used in basic training. They really knew how to pound it into you. Jacqueline, in the end, received a few compliments from inmates and Lieutenants alike. She learned to brush them off humbly.

By the end of the day, Jacqueline found herself back in her small little cell, locked away, and exhausted. She kept herself awake though, with a pad of paper and a small grease pencil that Bill had given her. When she was younger, before she was sentenced to prison, drawing was a real passion for Jacqueline. It was what kept her going, even during her first few years in the military. She found it useful, drawing for people and making a little cash on the side before she was commissioned. But now, it was just something to pass the time. Sometimes she gave her work to Bill, so he could transfer it to the outside world, and maybe, she hoped, someone could make something off of it. Sometimes she kept them, and other times she gave them to some of her closest inmates, like Mark or even Branson. Now, she found herself drawing absentmindedly, and when she looked at her work, she saw something that resembled an AK-47 rifle. Jacqueline frowned, and she turned to the side on her small cot, stuffing the pad and pencil under her brick-like pillow. As she did, she felt her hand brush against something else under there. Slowly, Jacqueline pulled out a small object— a photograph. It was slightly yellowed and worn-looking. She stared at it a moment, like she usually did whenever she came across it, or felt like looking at it. It was a picture of a young man and her, years ago. The young man was James Wilson. And he was her fiancé. Now that Jacqueline thought of it, they should've been married by now. She remembered having vowed to him, that when she had received the rank of Captain, no matter how long it took, she would marry him. At first, she had promised that when she made her goal of 1st Lieutenant, she would marry him, but two months after being commissioned, she was called to Iraq where she stayed for two years. When she got back to the states, her battalion had informed her that her duty and dedication to the Army had earned her the promotion to become a Captain. So, after working it out with James, they decided that once she became a Captain, they would at last, marry. She had finally gotten there, but before they had the chance to marry she was needed by the military once more, on a mission that she was not informed of. And then, she was convicted of the crime that she was in Fort Carson for, and that dream of holy matrimony was dashed. It was strange really, that when she was promoted to her next rank, that she was sent on a mission again, and then everything happened that brought her to this wretched place. Jacqueline refused to let her mind wander to the incident that took place. All she knew was that she was innocent, and someone set her up. No one believed her, of course, but, _she_ knew. And James had to know. Jacqueline recalled momentarily the multiple times that she had asked Bill to find James and to tell him that she was alright, and that she was going to be free someday. Even if it was fifteen years later…

Jacqueline let out a sigh, and she tucked the photo away underneath her pillow once more. She rolled over on her side again, feeling the aches in her body from the exertions and physical training she did that day. And she knew she would be facing yet another similar day tomorrow.

And that was a day for Jacqueline West at Fort Carson Military Prison.


	3. Transportation

**Chapter 3: Transportation**

A yawn escaped Jacqueline when she opened her eyes. For a moment, confusion plagued her as she stared up at the ceiling. She realized finally, that the room wasn't quite as dim as it usually was when she woke up. That was odd. They were usually right on time when it came to waking them up in the morning. Jacqueline sat up, yawning again. She felt stiff, and she crackled a bit when she stretched. She felt slightly out of whack, since she had just gotten over a cold. It was a pretty nasty one, and as a result she was banned from physical training when they had it. But now she was finally better, and ready to kick start into the only thing that kept her going while she lived in this dreadful place.

As Jacqueline hopped out of her bed, she noticed that someone was walking up to her cell. When she got a good look at them, she snapped to a salute. It was a higher ranking official, higher than Bill, and even Bryon. He was a Major. He walked up, accompanied by a Private, 3rd class, and the Private unlocked the cell door.

"As you were," the Major said, and Jacqueline relaxed slightly.

"What's the occasion, sir?" Jacqueline asked, and she stepped toward the cell door.

"Well, West," the Major said, and he stepped aside as Jacqueline walked out. She noticed, finally, that no one made an effort to grab her arm.

"Does this mean I'm free?" Jacqueline said, and for a moment, solid hope filled her.

"Don't get in a hurry, West," the Major said, and Jacqueline noticed that he seemed close to a smile, "only free from total confinement." Jacqueline almost smiled. At least that meant that she didn't have to be escorted by hand around the building._ But_, she thought, _freedom would be much nicer_. Jacqueline saluted again.

"Thank you sir," she said, and she relaxed again.

"My assistant here will escort you to the mess hall for your breakfast. You will go about every day like a regular day, but without accompaniment by hand. You will not, however, be completely alone, so remember that. There will be guards at least ten feet from you at all times. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir, you do sir," Jacqueline replied. The Major nodded.

"You can be on your way."

Jacqueline watched the Major walk away. For a moment she felt slightly privileged, knowing that a Major came all the way to her cell just to say that to her. Finally, Jacqueline turned to follow the Private toward the mess hall.

When the two reached the mess hall, Jacqueline was already grinning as she walked in. She was met by Branson, who was grinning like an idiot.

"We heard about your promotion!" He said grinning, "total bad ass now, huh?"

"Shut up, Branson," Jacqueline said, grinning still.

"Does it feel good? Tell me it feels good," he said.

"Whatever, it's no big deal," Jacqueline replied, and she sat down at a table with a couple of people. Mark was one of them.

"I mean, you don't have to have them stinkin' Privates and Lieutenants marching you around. It's like, you're almost free, man!"

"Chill, Branson, please," Jacqueline said. "Gosh. Twelve more years. Whoop."

Branson's grin faded.

"Don't feel so awful, Jack," Mark said, "that's not as long as some of us." Jacqueline looked at him solemnly. She didn't know what he did to land in that prison, but she knew that he would be there longer than twelve years. She looked down at the table, unsure of what to say.

"Okay, well, besides your lucky break," Branson said, pushing off the tense moment, "there's something else you need to know, West." Jacqueline looked up at him.

"I've been listenin' around, and I've heard some stuff," he started. Jacqueline closed her eyes tightly.

"Branson, please, no more of your stupid—"

"No, I'm serious," he added, and he leaned in closer to her, his voice and face turning serious.

"I hear that they're bringing a bus. Their shipping some of us out."

Jacqueline looked up at him.

"What?" she said.

"Yeah, seriously. Today," he said. Jacqueline was speechless. Part of her wondered if she would be leaving. But the other part was freaked. What if she was leaving? She would be moved to a new place. And then she would have to get used to _more_ people.

"Oh… God…" she said quietly.

"Exactly," Branson replied. Jacqueline put a hand to her head, her mind racing. Then she thought of it. She needed to find Bill. Abruptly Jacqueline shot up from the table.

"Wait, where're you goin'?" Branson cried, watching her. But Jacqueline ignored him. As she headed toward the doors of the mess hall, she saw some of the guards shifting, startled by her sudden movement. But before either they or Jacqueline could reach the doors, a bell sounded loudly, announcing that breakfast was over, and that all were required to head on outside. Jacqueline stopped momentarily as she realized that everyone else in the room was moving as well, and the guards stopped coming toward her. Jacqueline registered briefly that she was late to breakfast. Later than usual, which would explain why she woke up to a brighter-than-normal cell. But Jacqueline quickly forgot about it as other bodies started pressing her toward the doors to the outside, and Jacqueline felt herself going along with them.

When she reached the outside, and she felt the cool morning air hitting her face, Jacqueline automatically started scanning the courtyard for any sign of Bill. When she caught no sight of him, she turned and scanned the courtyard even more. No one seemed to care that she was standing there, looking around, worry etched on her face. No one, except for Mark and Branson, who came walking up behind Jacqueline.

"Sheesh Jack, what's got your pants in a knot?" Branson said, his voice haughty. "Is it because of what I said?"

"Look, Branson, I need to find Bill Tanner," Jacqueline said, icing her voice.

"Oh _that_guy?" Branson replied, and he got a disgusted look on his stubble-marked face. Jacqueline shot him a dark look. She knew that Branson was ever-jealous of the closeness of her and Bill. But Mark jumped to the rescue before Jacqueline and Branson could start in.

"I haven't seen Bill all morning, no one has," he said quietly. Jacqueline looked aver at Mark, her expression softening.

"Damn," she cursed, looking away "I need to find him, he'd know about the transport." Her voice softened gently.

"The transport?" Branson said, "So that _is_ what you're freakin' out about? You don't believe me, West?" Jacqueline looked back up at him.

"I don't want to get on that transport," she said blankly.

"Who says you are?" Branson said back.

"No one, but I'm not taking any chances."

Jacqueline turned away, her expression cold again, like the air that was whipping them around.

"Just let me know if you see Bill, alright?" she said quietly, and she crossed her arms over her bosom tightly, feeling colder than usual.

The rest of the morning and on into the lunch hour came and went as usual. Except that Jacqueline had no sight of Bill anywhere. She asked around a few times, and everyone told her that they had not seen him all day. He was no where to be seen. At first Jacqueline was worried that he might have left. _What if he got his promotion?_ She thought to herself. _What if he really left and he didn't get the chance to say goodbye?_Jacqueline tried not to address these worries, but every time she saw another soldier standing at the corners and doors where she usually saw Bill guarding, her worries increased. During lunch, Jacqueline didn't eat a thing. She even sat at a table all by herself, unwilling to sit by Branson for fear of his mockery. Near the end of lunch, however, all fears were addressed as a line of soldiers appeared at the front of the room, calling for attention.

"Atten-HUT!" one cried loudly, and abruptly every single person in the room snapped to attention, knocking a few chairs down as they flew up out of their seats to salute. One soldier marched up in front of the others.

"At ease, remain standing," the soldier said, his voice smooth and calculating. There was a little scuffling of feet, as every lowered their hands, but remained standing.

"A group of you has been selected for transport, by the Major Arthur Rufford, head of staff of the Fort Carson Military Prison," the soldier started. As he spoke, there was a small commotion as prisoners began hissing back and forth to each other, some even yelling in frustration at the talking soldier. Even Jacqueline looked around, and she saw Branson smirking at her from his spot a few tables away.

"Silence!" the soldier ordered, and immediately the voices died off.

"As your name is called, you will make your way to the front, and you will be instructed on what you are to do, do I make myself clear?" the soldier said, his voice even colder than it was before.

"Sir, yes sir!" everyone in the room replied loudly. The soldier nodded, and he was handed a piece of paper with a list of names on it. And he began reading them.

"Appleman , Taylor," he started. A middle-aged man stepped up toward the front.

"Clement, Jason." A dark-skinned, rough-looking young man took a couple steps forward to get to the front.

"Henley, Christine." This time, one of the few women prisoners stepped up. She was a newer inmate, and Jacqueline never had the chance to really get to know her too well. She was slightly older than Jacqueline, by a couple years at least.

"Jackson, Marcus." Jacqueline looked over at Mark as he got a slightly disgruntled look on his face, but he stepped forward anyway to get to the front of the room. By now, the smirk that was on Branson's face was gone. More names were called, and all the while, Jacqueline could feel her heart beating fast and faster as the alphabet reached closer and closer to the letter "W".

"West, Jacqueline."

Jacqueline finally felt her heart drop like stone as her name was called. She could sense a few eyes on her of those she knew, and slowly Jacqueline made her way through the rows of prisoners, her feet feeling like lead as she dragged them along. The closer she got to the rest of the group, the heavier she seemed to feel. When she got up to the front, the rest of the names had been called, and she was standing among a group of at least 20 prisoners. The main soldier who had called their names looked at each face sternly before he motioned them outside of the mess hall. They all followed him obediently. When they reached the outside of the room, Jacqueline heard the bell ring that signaled the release of the rest of the inmates from the mess hall. At last the soldier turned toward Jacqueline and the rest of the prisoners.

"You will be escorted to your cell, and you will find a new set of apparel on your cot. You will have five minutes to change into them, and grab your belongings. Then you will be escorted outside to the transportation bus and seated as directed. Any resistance, or attempted escape, _will_ be dealt with severely," the soldier said. He glared at each face one more time, causing them to shift in discomfort under the soldier's authoritative gaze. Before any one could say a word, the line of soldiers behind him walked up and began motion toward the prisoners who were in the same block as each other so that they could be escorted properly and efficiently. Since there was only a limited number of soldiers doing the escorting, no one was taken by the arm as usual.

The soldier in charge of Jacqueline's group escorted them swiftly through the halls, releasing them as they reached their cells. As soon as Jacqueline walked into her's, she started sifting through her things. There had to be a note. There had to be. Bill would let her know if he had gone. Especially if he knew that she was leaving… For a moment, a glimmer of hope shot through Jacqueline as she thought of the possibility that Bill might have known that she was leaving, and he transferred himself as well. Or, he knew that he was leaving, and that he wanted Jacqueline transferred with him. But, Jacqueline shoved this possibility to the back of her mind and kept searching anyway. When Jacqueline found nothing, she cursed under hear breath and looked at her cot. There was an orange cloth lying there, and when she picked it up, she realized that it was a jumpsuit. An orange jumpsuit.

"Oh I _hate_ orange…" she muttered, and, after searching through the clothes to make sure there was no note there either, she slipped on the jumpsuit over her white t-shirt and khaki pants.

Things seemed to move a lot faster once she gathered her belongings (which weren't much) and she left her cell. The soldier gathered up all of the prisoners, and he shackled all of them before they were escorted outside. Once outside, Jacqueline could see the transport bus ahead of them, parked outside of the gate where she usually saw all of the new prisoners being pulled in. Every step toward that bus caused the pain inside of her to increase as well. Not a word was exchanged between the prisoners; all kept silent and to themselves. At last, the prisoners were marched onto the bus. When Jacqueline got inside, she was immediately directed to her seat. Jacqueline briefly registered to herself the familiar scent of the bus, which reminded her of the first trip she was on when she was sent to Fort Carson three years previously. When Jacqueline sat down on the rough leather-like seats, she took notice of the other prisoners who sat down on the other seats. When she saw Mark, she tried to give him a weary smile, but she found that she couldn't even lift the corners of her mouth upward. But Mark seemed to notice that she was trying to reassure him, for her gave her a comforting smile in return. At last, the final person climbed aboard— Christine Henley. She looked around, and seeing that Jacqueline was the only other female on the bus and she was seated alone, she made her way toward her. Jacqueline tried to stifle any resentment toward Christine as she thought of how the other female convicts had treated her at Fort Carson. Christine sat down silently on the right of Jacqueline. Then she looked over at Jacqueline, with an almost-nervous look on her face.

"Can you switch me?" she asked, her voice very quiet and hushed. Jacqueline looked at her, feeling slightly taken aback.

"I get carsick on buses," Christine added. Jacqueline nodded, not wanting to argue against the woman. Silently, the two switched places, and Jacqueline cast a swift glance around the bus, keeping track of the number of different faces. Suddenly, though, there was a commotion outside of the bus. Some of the prisoners cast nervous glances outside as someone approached the bus. Jacqueline turned to look, but she couldn't see the face of whoever was standing there. The driver, a 2nd Lieutenant, stepped outside, and Jacqueline saw him salute to someone. They exchanged words, which Jacqueline couldn't hear, and then she saw the Lieutenant step away from the vehicle and someone else climbed on board. Whoever it was had a soldier's helmet on, which made it impossible for Jacqueline to see his face. Pretty soon however, the bus began moving, and Jacqueline watched as her three-year home fall behind her, and the bus drove away. And just like that, things were already changing for her.


	4. Liberation

**Chapter 4: Liberation**

After a while of being cramped inside of a hot bus with 19 other prisoners, the only solace from the horrid boredom being the rolling hills of Pikes Peak next to you, while going God-knows-where, sleep, you'd think, is not an option. But Jacqueline found that her eyes were so heavy, that she could hardly keep her head straight while they bumped down the road. All she kept thinking at first was where they were heading, and if they were all going to the same place. She also thought about which military prison they were headed for. _I mean_, _there aren't that many to begin with_, Jacqueline thought to herself, _so the trip could be days for them._ As they rolled down the road, Jacqueline leaned to the side slightly, her eyes heavy again. But abruptly, her eyes snapped open to the sound of an approaching vehicle. She looked ahead, blinking her eyes a couple times. There was a black vehicle speeding down the road in the opposite direction. Jacqueline watched in curiosity as the vehicle came closer. She noted that it was a black Chevy Volt. Peering at it when it came closer, Jacqueline noticed its black tinted windows as well. _Odd,_ she thought to herself. _Thought that was illegal around here?_

None of the other prisoners in the bus seemed to notice or care, save a few that were either incredibly board, or cared a little about cars. Jacqueline watched for a bit, knowing that any moment the Volt would just pass them by, like any other car. As she watched, Jacqueline wondered to herself what it would feel like to be behind the wheel of a vehicle again. _Like riding a bike, you'll always remember how to drive_. Jacqueline almost found herself smiling at the memory of hearing her brother tell her that when he was teaching her how to drive. Briefly, Jacqueline wondered if she could still drive like she used to. Fast and _dangerous_, as her brother used to let her know oftentimes.

Jacqueline continued to watch the car, waiting until the moment that it passed. _Maybe I could sneak a peek at whoever was driving it,_ she thought humorously to herself. At last the Volt reached the side of the transport bus. Jacqueline was about to look away as the car passed, since it was racing by too fast to catch a glimpse of the driver anyway, when abruptly, the vehicle did something that Jacqueline did not expect— it suddenly swerved to the left, and profanities flew into the air as the black Chevy Volt collided with the side of the transport bus. Everyone, including Jacqueline, was thrown to the right by the force of the vehicle. The driver of their bus cursed to himself, and he swung the steering wheel to the left to keep the bus from tilting over with the amount of people that were flung toward the windows. Jacqueline held tightly onto the rough leather seat in front of her, and she saw in the corner of her eye that Christine, the prisoner next to her, was gripping the seat as well, her eyes tightly closed, and her face steadily becoming paler. Jacqueline looked behind her, and through a few windows behind her as she turned, she saw the Volt speeding down in the other direction, as fast as a bullet. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a second car that came screaming from the same direction that the Volt came from. Jacqueline didn't have time to take notice of what kind of car it was, for it suddenly came swerving at the bus as well, in a similar manner as the other had done. This time, however, the driver of the transport bus pulled the wheel in the other direction to avoid a collision with the second car. But he was too late— the vehicle aimed itself toward the bus and everyone yelled again as the vehicle collided with the bus. As the vehicle clashed against the bus, everyone flew to the right again as the driver attempted to correct the course again to keep everyone from falling into the windows. They were bullet-proof, but you never know when something could break from the force of two dozen bodies slamming into the side of it. As every one flew with even more force, Christine knocked into Jacqueline, and suddenly Jacqueline lost her grip on the leather seat in front of her. She was flung to the side, out of her seat, and she crashed painfully against the floor. She let out a cry as she fell to the floor, twisting her ankle in an impossible direction as she landed, but because of the shackles that were attached to her legs, luckily her ankle did not twist around as far as it could have. But Jacqueline's cry was unheard through the swearing and yelling of the other prisoners. Jacqueline looked up, trying to pull herself up through the pain. But as she did so, she stopped as she saw something on the floor. There, lying alone on the floor, as if left there on purpose, was a _key_. Jacqueline almost gasped in utter shock. It couldn't be. Not mere _coincidence_. _Maybe divine intervention._ But Jacqueline didn't question it. She instead reached forward with her hands that were handcuffed to each other, and she grabbed the key. Jacqueline cupped it in her hands, and she twisted her body around in such a way, and as inconspicuously as possible, in order to get to her feet. She worked the key into her shackles easily, feeling them unlock and loosen from her feet. At last, now that her feet were free, so Jacqueline laid there on the floor of the bus until it stopped swerving and tilting. At last, the driver of the bus got the bus stabilized, and everyone began to sit up. Jacqueline pulled herself into her seat, and she carefully tried to slip the key into her handcuffs without anyone noticing. As she did so, she noticed that the bus was turned completely around, in the middle of the road. The driver of the bus looked flustered, from what Jacqueline could see of his face. The driver was pushing buttons, until he stopped and looked over at the door of the bus. That was when Jacqueline had noticed that the door of the bus was hanging off of its hinges from when the other car had slammed into the side of the bus. At that, the driver cursed again. He grabbed something off of the dashboard of the bus, and Jacqueline heard static sounds. It was a two-way radio. It was then that Jacqueline knew what she had to do. It was now or never. Freedom, at the tip of her fingers. Literally. A few other prisoners shifted in their seats, and Jacqueline knew what some of them where thinking. They too had taken notice of the door. Finally, Jacqueline took her chance. Like lightening, she jumped from her seat, thankful that her feet were free, and she continued to unlock the second pair of shackles as she went toward the door. The other prisoners watched, some getting up after her. The driver of the bus whipped around, seeing the commotion. But Jacqueline was already racing toward the doors. She honestly had no idea where the thought of escape had even come from.

"West!" he shouted, and Jacqueline saw in the corner of her eye that he was pulling something else out— a pistol. Jacqueline closed her eyes tightly as she passed the driver, knowing that she wouldn't make it. Not like that, not with a close range shot at the gunman's fingertips. But, to Jacqueline's astonishment, she felt the Colorado air hit her face as she reached the door. As she did, though, she felt something else— something was pressed through a gap in her orange jumpsuit, and into her pocket. Jacqueline turned momentarily, daring to look over her shoulder at the driver as she was about to leap out of the bus. Everything seemed to go into slow motion at that moment; she turned, looking him straight in the eye. And what she saw almost made her stop in the thresh hold of that broken door— she found herself looking into Bill Tanner's dark brown eyes that she knew so well. And something in his eyes told her to keep going. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Jacqueline wasn't going to take any chances by stopping and finding out. Instead, she leaped off of the bus as she heard him yell her name again. Feeling a new sense of control and power, Jacqueline landed on the hard asphalt with a new-found spring in her step, ignoring the stabbing pain of her twisted ankle. She saw the trees ahead of her, and she ran toward them with all of the strength she could muster, finally simply forgetting about the pain. As she ran, though, she heard a new sound— a gun shot. She didn't stop though. She heard a couple more, and she was feeling more confident as they all missed. That is, until a sharp pain unexpectedly exploded in her leg as she felt something hit it. She stumbled heavily, and for a moment, Jacqueline wondered if Bill was really trying to shoot her down.

"Jack! No!" she heard him yell, but she didn't stop. She braced the pain in her leg, and she stumbled forward, hitting the tree line. Jacqueline felt relief when she made it into the trees, knowing that she would be somewhat protected by them, unless the officers came after her. For a moment, Jacqueline stopped, and she looked behind her, seeing the bus sitting in the middle of the road. No one was coming after her. She made it. She was free. But the sound of another gunshot forced Jacqueline to keep moving, and she raced through the trees as fast as she could. As she ran, though, she finally realized that the shackles were still on her hands. Jacqueline struggled as she ran, to get them off, trying to get the key through the keyhole. When she realized the futility of trying to get them off while running, Jacqueline stopped briefly, still attempting to get them unlocked. As she struggled with them, she looked up at the sky. There was an odd sound coming from a distance and for a moment Jacqueline thought that the combination of her twisted ankle and her bullet wound was causing her to hallucinate through her adrenalin. But when she recognized the whipping sound of chopper blades, Jacqueline knew it wasn't her imagination— they were going to search for her by _helicopter_. Normally Jacqueline would have felt slight pride in knowing that they were taking all precautions to catch her, but instead Jacqueline kept moving, forgetting the chopper, and forgetting the shackles momentarily for the sake of time. Jacqueline stumbled through the overgrown trees, ignoring the frustration that was building up inside of her while the branches slapped her in the face. Actually, Jacqueline thought, it was almost a relief to feel those branches scratching her face. It reminded her that she was still alive, and that she wasn't dreaming. It reminded her that she hadn't felt a tree in… three years. Not a real tree, anyway.

After a while of running through the trees, Jacqueline began to forget about the time of day. She noticed that the lighting was starting to become scarce as she made her way through the trees. She also noticed that the pain in her leg had stopped. Jacqueline stopped moving finally, taking a look at her leg. In the dimness of the trees, she could see a moist red circle on the orange of her jumpsuit. Bending down, Jacqueline tried to grab the leg of her jumpsuit, but she found that it was highly difficult while the shackles were attached to her. Frowning, Jacqueline stood back up, fingering for the key in her hands. She tried positioning it again to get the key into the handcuffs, but as she did, she lost her grip on the key. Suddenly it dropped out of her hands, landing on the mossy ground underneath her. Jacqueline cursed loudly to herself, and she dropped to her knees, feeling the dark ground to find the key. Jacqueline could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she searched, knowing that she was taking longer and longer, and the longer she was out there, the faster they would find her. At last, Jacqueline felt her fingertips brush something metal on the ground. She gave a quiet, yet triumphant cry, picking up the key. Finally, Jacqueline maneuvered the key around in her hand, getting it inside of the keyhole again. She heard it click, and they finally loosened. Pulling them off, Jacqueline felt a sense of triumph as she watched them fall to the ground. When she looked back down at her arms, she noticed that there were red rings around her wrists where they had been, and she realized then that without her knowledge, they had been cutting into both of her wrists, which left a few welts and red marks. But that was the least of her worries. Jacqueline remembered her leg, and she reached down to pull up the bottom of the jumpsuit. When she looked at her khaki pants underneath the jumpsuit, she felt her heart drop a couple notches. There was a large blood spot and a hole on the pant leg, where the wound was underneath. Knowing she needed to stop the bleeding, Jacqueline stood up, and she stripped off the orange jumpsuit, feeling grateful that she didn't need to wear it anymore. After taking off the jumpsuit, Jacqueline quickly tore off a shred of cloth from it, and she reached down, tying it around her leg to cut off the circulation to keep it from bleeding so much. When she did so, she examined the wound. The bullet was still in there, and her leg was a bright red colour surrounding the wound. Jacqueline sighed to herself. She hadn't had an injury like that in a long time. And it also meant that she might need professional help. But that was out of the question, considering her state and how she _just_ escaped from imprisonment. So, Jacqueline instead braced the pain, and she stood up, still feeling hardly anything in her leg. _Which is somewhat of a good thing_, Jacqueline thought to herself, and she trudged forward through the trees, hoping that she would at least find somewhere to stay before night fell completely on the woods.


	5. Woodland Park

**Chapter 5: Woodland Park**

Some time later, Jacqueline, who was still trudging through the woods, feeling as though she had no leg, saw something through the dark trees that actually comforted her slightly. There were lights. As Jacqueline looked around, she realized that night had finally fallen, and the woods were coming alive behind her. She could hear the bugs in the trees, and the crickets in the tall grasses. For a moment, Jacqueline almost considered just staying in the woods for the night, for the sake of the nature that she had missed for three years. But the cool wind that blew across Jacqueline's bare arms caused her to keep moving, until she could see the lights of the city ahead. When Jacqueline finally broke free of the trees, she stopped, staring down at the city below her. It was brightly lit, like she hadn't seen in years. It was also busy, considering the lateness of the day, and noisy. But to Jacqueline it almost felt like home. A home she had not been in for such a long time. As she made her way down the small hill that led toward the city and away from the trees, Jacqueline tried to determine where she was. _Okay,_ she thought, thinking hard, _Fort Carson… is close to Pikes Peak… and considering that there's only one road going through Pikes Peak, then I must've traveled a couple miles… and that would mean that this would be… Woodland Park?_ Jacqueline shook her head, unsure if she was right or not. She made her way into the small city, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible whenever she ran across someone. There were a number of shady-looking people walking around from where Jacqueline came in the city, and she tried not to limp as she walked by, hoping that they wouldn't take any notice of her. The farther in town she got, though, the nicer things got. Pretty soon, Jacqueline found herself in front of a small motel. It was a run-down looking building, but it looked much more appealing to her than her small cell back in Fort Carson. As Jacqueline walked into the building, she avoided the eyes of a scrawny man who was hanging out near the entrance of the building, smoking. He was eyeing Jacqueline curiously, and she resisted the urge to tell him to stop, or she would do some serious hurt. Instead, Jacqueline walked right past him, up the steps, and into the building. Feeling extremely exposed in the brightness of the flickering fluorescent bulbs above her, Jacqueline walked up to the desk trying to look as casual as possible. The woman, a middle-aged dark-haired woman whose hair was streaked with grey, looked up from her book over her spectacles.

"May I help you?" she said, and Jacqueline smiled at the politeness.

"Yes, I was wondering if you have an available room?" Jacqueline asked, giving a kind smile. The woman looked away, and started clicking on a computer screen. After a moment or two, the woman looked back up.

"One night?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," Jacqueline replied. She bit her lip nervously when the woman eyed her, as if taken aback by her respect. But as quickly as she eyed her, the woman's eyes were back on the screen.

"Room 107," the woman replied, and she looked back up. "Cash or credit?" Jacqueline automatically reached behind her into her pocket, before realizing that she didn't have her wallet. Or her bag. Or _any_ of her possessions. Jacqueline almost cursed, but she recovered, and made a sincere disgusted look.

"Great, I left my wallet in the car," she said convincingly, "can I go grab it?" The woman paused, and for a moment Jacqueline wondered if she would deny her. But instead she nodded in understanding.

"Happens all the time," Jacqueline said with a gracious smile, "I'll be right back." With that, Jacqueline turned and walked out of the motel, trying to think of what to do. There was really only one logical thing to do— but theft was out of the question. That is, until Jacqueline saw that man still hanging out a the entrance of the motel. Jacqueline almost stopped, debating whether or not to actually go through with it. _I mean, think of what's at stake,_ she thought to herself, considering her clean record. _Also remember that you're now a wanted fugitive,_ another part of her thought. _True_, Jacqueline thought. So, without further debating, Jacqueline walked outside, her plan formulated. As she walked outside, she walked past the man who was smoking. She kept walking by the man, and then for a moment she stopped, shivering slightly. And then she turned to the man, a curious look on her face.

"Hey, you got a smoke?" she asked, and lowered her eyes to look at him. The man stopped, and looked at her. He eyed her again, which caused Jacqueline's skin to craw. She knew she looked odd, walking around in naught but her white t-shirt and khaki pants. Finally the man reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He gave a cigarette to Jacqueline, and she popped it in her mouth, bending down to let the guy light it. When he did and Jacqueline straightened up to take it out of her mouth, she silently thanked God that she had smoked before and knew how to do it properly. Though, she hated it.

"Thanks," Jacqueline said, blowing the smoke away. The man only grunted in reply. Jacqueline stood there a moment, still formulating her plan. She wasn't generally the type who thought about things— she usually went as it came. Jacqueline thought about small talk, but that might not work. She couldn't get herself in a precarious situation. Instead, Jacqueline looked around, trying to think of something. Then she saw it— the ground beneath her was slightly wet, and easy to slip on. Jacqueline almost smiled with the idea that popped into her head. She gave a loud sigh before saying,

"Well, thanks again for the smoke."

The guy nodded at her, and Jacqueline thought she might've heard something that sounded like a "you're welcome." Jacqueline dropped the cigarette on the ground, and stepped on it before started down the steps of the walkway in front of the motel. As she walked, Jacqueline braced herself, and stepped right onto the slick pavement. She forced her feet to slide, which sent her crashing down the steps. She let out a cry, which was actually quite realistic, before reaching the ground. When she hit the pavement, Jacqueline moaned loudly as if in pain, and she reached down as inconspicuously as she could to pull off the orange clothe that was tied around her injured leg. The man, to her slight surprise, jumped up with great speed, and he dashed down the steps.

"Are you okay lady?" he cried, and he paused when he saw her leg.

"God, what the hell happened?" he said, staring at her bloody leg.

"I think I broke it," Jacqueline said, and she looked up, a pained look on her face. The man didn't argue. He bent down, unsure of what to do.

"Uh, I dunno—" he said.

"Help me up," Jacqueline said. The man nodded, and he reached down to help lift her up. Jacqueline used most of her strength to pull herself up, but she let the man think he did it too.

"Do you have a cell?" Jacqueline asked.

"Yeah, in my car," the man said, "do you want me to call 911 or somethin'?" Jacqueline shook her head.

"No, my brother's in town, I'll just call him. He can take me to the doctor… I was supposed to be back an hour ago anyway, he's probably looking for me…" she lied. She found it easy to do so— years ago a similar thing happened to her, for real.

"Are you sure?" the man asked. Jacqueline nodded. The man nodded back, and he left her as he jogged over to where his car was. Jacqueline watched him until he was out of sight, before reaching up her hand and looking at the black wallet which she had pulled out of the man's pocket. With a somewhat satisfied smirk, Jacqueline turned around and carefully walked back into the motel room. The woman was still sitting there, reading her book.

"Hello again," Jacqueline asked, smiling sweetly. The woman looked up, and she almost smiled as well.

"Did you find your wallet alright?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Jacqueline said, and she pulled out the wallet again, "hidden in the glove compartment. My brother does that all the time," With a smile, Jacqueline pulled out a credit card. To her surprise, and somewhat relief, the name on the card was so worn off, that it was almost impossible to read. But it almost looked something like "Terry McGordon." This also gave her the advantage of being able to use the same name without much suspicion. When Jacqueline handed the card over to the woman, Jacqueline smiled and said

"Sorry about the name, it says Terry McGordon, but it's kinda old so the name is worn off…"

The woman looked at it, almost curiously. She swiped the card, and waited a moment. Jacqueline silently prayed that Terry McGordon was the name that came up on the screen.

"Thank you Ms. McGordon," the woman finally said, smiling. Jacqueline felt a wave of relief spread through her.

"Enjoy your stay, ma'am," the woman added, and she handed Jacqueline a key. Jacqueline nodded and said thank you quiet. When Jacqueline turned however, the woman said something else.

"You were at Fort Carson?" she asked. Jacqueline paused, looking back at her.

"Y-yes, she said quietly. Her heart stopped beating almost, and she felt a bit of a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.

"Thank you," the woman said, and she smiled once more, "thank you for serving." Jacqueline nodded humbly, and she continued on, walking out the door again. For a moment, Jacqueline wondered how the woman knew, until she looked down at her shirt, and saw the words "Fort Carson" printed on the side. She breathed a low whistle. That was cutting it close. Jacqueline paused outside of the building, feeling the cold air. She glanced around, trying to see through the dark if she could distinguish the man who had ran to find his cell phone. He was no where in sight, and Jacqueline hoped that he gave up, or at least went looking for her in the vicinity. Hoping not to draw any attention to herself, Jacqueline made her way to the multiple complexes across from the main building. She watched for her room number, 107, feeling slightly odd as she realized that she was given her own room. She made a vow to herself to make it up to Terry McGordon eventually, when she settled her score with her supposed crime.

At last, Jacqueline spotted her room. As quickly as she could, she pushed the key into the keyhole. When the locked clicked open, Jacqueline forced herself in and snapped the rickety door closed behind her. When she made double-sure that the door was locked securely, Jacqueline finally turned to look at her room. It was small, and an odd sort of yellow colour. But, to Jacqueline, it was almost like heaven compared to Fort Carson. She stepped into the room, looking around, almost admiring the furniture. For a moment she registered the fact that she had not been in an actual room for over three years. She wondered what her home, where she lived with James, was like now. Or if James had moved somewhere else. Jacqueline walked over to the bed, and she looked down at it, touching it barely with the tips of her fingers. She hadn't slept in a real bed in over three years. Jacqueline looked around again, unsure of what to do. Though, sleep was a very lovely idea. But, Jacqueline then realized the pain that she was feeling in her left leg. She looked down, seeing that it was oozing with blood again. She muttered an unintelligible word before heading toward the bathroom that was located in the back of the room. She flipped on the light, and she stopped. It was a tiny bathroom, but she felt grateful that she had one. She walked over to the medicine cabinet, sifting through the multiple items to find something to help dress her wound. When she grabbed a package of gauze wrap, she sat down on the floor and worked on cleaning up her leg. She grimaced when she pulled up her pant leg, seeing the oozing injury. She noticed that there was a metallic glint to the spot, and she realized with dread that the bullet was still lodged in her leg, which would explain the odd feeling that was in her leg. But, knowing she was no doctor, Jacqueline ignored the bullet as she began to wrap the gauze around her wound. She grimaced again as she felt a bit of pain while she wrapped it.

At last, Jacqueline finished her work, and she stood up, tenderly placing her foot on the floor. Jacqueline reached up, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. When she did so, she felt something warm and wet, and Jacqueline pulled her hand back to look at her hand. It was covered in blood. Jacqueline's face fell and she mumbled a curse to herself before walking over to the sink to wipe off her face. When she looked up into the mirror, however, she stopped. She was staring at a brown-haired, green-eyed woman. It took her a moment to realize that she was, in fact, staring at her own reflection. She looked awful— she had fading scratches from the branches that had smacked her face in the woods, but most of all she looked undernourished. Well, more than usual. She always had a pale complexion and a scrawny sort of build. But, after three years time, she had changed dramatically. She even noticed a few wrinkles that had not been there before. Jacqueline reached up, touching the side of her face. She hadn't really seen herself in over three years. She frowned, removing her hand. _So this is what captivity does to a person,_ she thought bitterly. Thirty-two years of living and this is what her life had wrought. Quickly, without looking at herself again in the mirror, Jacqueline cleaned her face, feeling anxious to get out of the small bathroom.

When Jacqueline stepped back into the small motel room, she almost sighed. Everything was so clean and orderly, which she very much liked. But being in a concrete cell for more than three years, everything seemed so… perfect. Like, she wasn't supposed to have it. Jacqueline ignored the stabbing feeling of guilt as she realized, painfully, that she technically was _not_ supposed to be here. First, she broke out of prison, and second, she stole from a man whom she didn't even know. _Though,_ Jacqueline thought, walking over to the bed and looking down at it, _I vowed to pay him back eventually…_ Settling on this feeling, Jacqueline looked down at the bed. Yawning, she gently laid herself down on the bed, stretching herself out on it carefully. She felt slightly odd as she laid there, staring up at the ceiling, finally feeling the effects of the long day. She thought about how only that morning, a Major had come to her cell to let her know that she was given the privilege to have slight freedom in Fort Carson. Now, she was lying on a feather bed, in a clean room, free from the hands of the military. For now. Jacqueline sighed, and she reached over to flip the lamp switched. She sighed once more as the room went black, and she listened to the noises of the city outside of her room. She rolled over once more, trying not to think about the officers who she knew was looking for her.

But as she did so, Jacqueline felt something. Something in her pocket. Suddenly, remembering the scene in her head from earlier when she escaped the bus, and Bill had pulled out his gun, she recalled the feeling of someone pushing something into her pocket. Slowly, her hand starting to shake slightly, Jacqueline flipped back on the light switch, and she pulled the object out of her pocket. It was a folded piece of paper. Jacqueline opened it carefully, and for a moment she was confused. It was a drawing. One of _her_ drawings. Jacqueline remembered it momentarily, gazing the drawing of the St. Louis Arch. Then, Jacqueline noticed something else. It was a small note attached to the corner of the drawing. When Jacqueline read it, she almost gasped in shock as she recognized Bill's writing, and what it said made her heart swell instantly:

_I _do _believe you're innocent_

When Jacqueline studied the note carefully, she noticed an arrow pointing to the side of the note, and curiously, she flipped the note over to look on the back. And on the back were four more simple words that made her blink in uncertainty and curiosity, and an arrow was drawn as well that pointed at the drawing of the Arch.

_The A-Team can help._


	6. The Fort Carson Job

**Author's Note: **Yeah, I know it's been a while, but here's another chapter finally! I hope to get writing again, I've kind of hit a writer's block already... Hope you enjoy anway!

**Chapter 6: The Fort Carson Job**

A lone sigh filled the silence suddenly, and it came from the desk that sat in a small corner at the end of the office. The sigh came from a man, early thirties maybe, who was seated at a desk, his feet propped up against the top, and he was staring at his telephone. For days he had been left in the dark, wanting to know about the new case that had arisen in his office. After all, it had to do with Fort Carson, and he wanted to know the details. But instead, his boss left him in his office, leaving him out of the investigation.

"You might be a hindrance," his boss had said, considering the fact that the man was a former Captain in the Army, and he had chosen this low-life desk job as an FBI agent in order to pursue the career he wanted as a child, to be a officer who chased after crime. And since this new case involved Fort Carson, they thought that his former job would hinder him from performing his duty accurately. So there he was, Lucas Madison, former Captain, sitting at a desk in a puny office on the outskirts of Colorado Springs, Colorado, waiting for the call that would never come. Lucas turned his head to gaze out the window next to him. The sky was becoming a royal orange colour, which contrasted nicely against the dark blue that was beginning to spread across the sky. Lucas was never fond of Colorado's orange skies, but on nights like these, he found them to be quite beautiful, while in the back of his mind he was wishing to be in a place like Miami, or even San Francisco.

Lucas returned his wandering gaze back to his desk, looking at it closely, making sure that nothing was out of place. He then turned to his clock o the north wall, which was showing the time being 6:30 p.m. He would be off for the night in fifteen minutes. _Such a long time,_ Lucas thought bitterly, and he stifled a yawn that threatened to occupy his face.

Finally, Lucas stood up, tired of sitting in his chair. He still had 10 minutes, but he realized how much he didn't care. He just wanted to go home. No family, of course, except for an annoying sister who decided to swing by every now and then with her creepy (_that's the understatement of the year_,he thought to himself) boyfriend. He smiled in sour amusement at that thought, grabbing his jacket, ready to swing it over his shoulders. As he did so, however, a ringing sounded through his office, and Lucas looked over his shoulder at the telephone on his desk. It was, in fact, ringing. Slowly, with slight curiosity, since he had already decided that it wasn't his boss, he reached over his desk, picking up the phone and bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said into the phone, curious as to who would be calling at this time of day.

"Madison," someone said, and Lucas recognized non other than his boss' voice on the other end, "It's Jackson."

"How can I help you Mr. Jackson?" Lucas said, and he tried not to hope.

"Look, I know you've been whining about this new case we've just heard about," he started, and Lucas could hear the resentment dripping off his voice like sap.

"Not whining, sir," Lucas muttered.

"Whatever," Jackson replied. "I know you want on this case. And, well, it looks like it's bigger than we might've thought. On top of the fact that one of our members dropped out anyway… Do you think you can help?"

Lucas smiled. For once, he actually smiled at the words that he heard from his boss.

"Of course, Mr. Jackson, I will definitely."

"Don't get all excited and mushy, Madison," Jackson said back, his voice iced. Lucas smirked to himself.

"Look, just go ahead and head on out for the day. I've sent the details through a fax, you should have it when you get home," Jackson added.

"Thank you sir," Lucas said and he said a swift goodbye before going to hang up the telephone.

"And Madison," Jackson added before Lucas could hang up the phone, "try not to get in anyone's way, alright?"

Lucas' face fell, and a wave of bitterness swept through him. He was momentarily glad that his boss could not see his face at that moment.

"Yes sir," Lucas finally said, and he finally hung up the phone. He felt odd inside. Only moments before, he had been dejected at the thought of not being put on such an important case. But now they needed him. Lucas smiled slightly again, to himself, and he finally swung his jacket over his shoulder to head home.

When home, Lucas walked through the front door, stopping briefly to soak in the deep silence that plagued his house. Just how he liked it. As he stepped in, though, for a moment he wished to himself that he had more than just himself to live with. A wife, kids, would be pleasant. To have someone to come home to. Lucas brushed away these thoughts as he hung up his jacket, locking the front door behind him as he did. It was pointless to try and imagine a life with someone else. _Besides,_ he thought as he made his way through the darkened parlor, trying to find the nearest lamp to turn on, _my life is too hectic to try and raise a family. _Lucas' fingers reached a lamp, and he reached up, turning it on. Light bathed the room, and Lucas felt at home. He yawned slightly, and then he made his way down the hallway toward his kitchen. In the back of his mind he knew he had to go check out the details of the new project he was finally assigned to, but he was taking it slow. Soaking in the moment, knowing he would be jumping on the case. Thinking to himself, Luca made himself a cup of coffee, willing himself to take everything slowly. _Besides_, he thought to himself again as he poured creamer into his steaming coffee, _I bet it's not that big a deal really. I bet my boss just wanted to get me pumped for this case so that he could just dump it on me_. Lucas smirked incredulously to himself, picking up his coffee and heading back toward his study room.

When he walked into his study room, he flipped on the light and took a moment to make sure everything was in order. It was a fairly small room, with a single window. The only thing that was out of place was the fax machine in the corner, which had a few papers sitting on the tray. It was flashing green to alert him to his fax. Walking over to it, Lucas placed down his mug of coffee, and he reached down, pressing the off button on the fax to make it stop flashing. Then, finally, trying not to feel even slightly anxious, Lucas gathered the papers on the machine, looking at them. He read over the main file, which was talking about Fort Carson. Each line he read made his grow more and more anxious.

"A breakout in Fort Carson military prison…?" he muttered, reading over the lines again. He read about how the suspect, a felon convicted of murder and theft of important legal documents concerning the Governor of West Virginia, had escaped from the confines of a military transport on the way to Fort Lewis, Washington. He also read that they were now on the run, and there were certain leads as to where they might be.

Lucas frowned, and he flipped through the papers to look at the next pages. When he stopped on the profile of the convict, he stopped. It was a woman by the name of Captain Jacqueline Elizabeth West. Thirty-two years of age, in Fort Carson for three years. Lucas stopped, feeling odd a moment. He couldn't help but notice that she had a beautiful smile, and bright eyes. She didn't look like a killer. Lucas sighed, placing the papers down a moment. So he was chasing a convicted soldier. A murderer-slash-thief who was capable of anything and everything… Going God knows where. Lucas sat down in his chair, feeling slightly overwhelmed. This was a big case. No wonder they needed him, and his specialties. Lucas placed his hand on his forehead, feeling anxious again. This was going to be a long week. He looked up from his chair, glancing at the clock on the other side of the room. It was getting late, and Lucas could feel the effects of a boring day at work settling in. But he knew that he wouldn't be able to get much sleep, with this in his mind. Lucas shook his head, standing up from his desk, still clutching the papers in his hand. He left his study room, feeling a yawn creeping up, the image of Jacqueline West's innocent-looking face smiling at him swimming in his head.


End file.
